Guido
by KnuxZimRyoko15
Summary: [CARS]The story of everyone's favorite forklift.


My story is a simple one to tell, if you can understand my Italian.

One may wonder how such a small forklift like myself survived on his own in such a large country. I myself wondered that as I set sail from Naples to make my way in America, so many years ago. Such a trip was very expensive for my family, as my father only earned 15 lira a month working at the local market. I was no more than nine years old, a mere boy, and it was not a smooth journey. The constant rocking of the waves made me nauseous, the heady scent of salt and smoke made me cough, and the captain (a very rude Coupe deVille) constantly pushed me around. It was no place for a boy.

On top of everything else, I was homesick. The world I knew was Italy, with its winding vistas, emerald hills where young cars would dream of racing, first class food, and awe-inspiring works of architecture. There was no one who spoke Italian on the boat. NOT ONE. Everyone was either French, Peugeots with their noses in the air and their fancy paint jobs, or English Rolls-Royces who found it amusing to look down on me and talk as though I understood what they were saying. Alone, confused, and completely behind the language barrier, I spent most of my time in my small parking space, hugging my few possessions and dreaming of the day I'd return to Mama and Papa.

Finally, after weeks of sailing through all kinds of weather and putting up with humiliation, we landed on Ellis Island. I'll never forget my first glimpse of Signora Libertà, the Statue of Liberty. She stood with torch outstretched, gentle smile on her face, seemingly welcoming me and me alone to a wonderful place. I had never seen such a beautiful sight in my life. It was so overwhelming, that I nearly cried. New York itself was a vast difference from my hometown in Italy. Building so high, they seemed to be reaching for God himself. There was so much activity and so many lights, and I wondered if I would be able to see it all. In my child-like innocence, I had already assumed that everyone in America HAD to be as nice as the loving giant that had welcomed us, and that such a glorious place couldn't possibly be mean to a young immigrant. Sure, the cars heading the Immigration process hadn't been friendly, but they were the exception, not the rule, right?

I was soon to find out just how cruel New York could be.

I had no money, no home, no skills to speak of, and no concept of the English language. Jobs were scarce, and food was even scarcer. I lived that first year off the kindness of strangers and whatever I could scrounge up from shining people's tires. Often, people would try and help me out, but what they were saying was completely beyond me. I was completely alone in an enormous city, and quite possibly would still be there, if it weren't for…

Luigi.

Fate brought him to me, my Italian guardian angel. I have often thought of what my life would be like had I not set up shop that day, and never met him. It was just a normal day for me, begging for scraps of kindness in my very halted English (by this time, the only real word I had learned was "Please?"), and offering to clean the tires of anyone who drove by. He had come to me for a shine and noticed that I couldn't understand his English. Miracle of miracles, he started speaking ITALIAN to me! I was so surprised that I nearly dropped my scrub brush. Italian…it had been so long since anyone had spoken my native language that I wept in front of him. He told me that he had experienced the very same thing when he had come here, and would I be interested in a job at his tire store? I accepted immediately.

We were together for many, many years before we decided to move. I had, by that time, become extremely adept at changing flats and fitting new tires on our customers. Luigi and me even made it a sort of game, to see how fast I could do a full round of tires. We had discovered our mutual love of Ferrari racing, and we both dreamed of a chance to go to an actual race. I had picked up another word from him: "Pitstop", and I would go to bed with thoughts of the fast-paced life of a racing crew spinning in my head. Eventually, a bigger tire store opened next to us, and put us out of business rather quickly. Deciding to travel west together, we packed our merchandise into a trailer and headed out on Route 66, in search of any town that needed roadside tire assistance. For a while, Luigi and I ran a traveling store, stopping in every town we came to and stayed just long enough to make an impression before moving on, promising to be back. We did that for nearly a year before we discovered Radiator Springs. I can't put my tire on what exactly is different about this place, but it almost felt like my first few moments in America: warm, friendly, and for once no one laughed at me. When we first arrived there, they were in desperate need of tires. With more business than they could handle, they practically begged us to stay. For the first time since my crossing, everyone treated me with respect, despite the fact that none of them understood me. I insisted that we settle down here, and Luigi didn't need much convincing. Doc threw us a "Welcome to the town" party, Flo helped us settle into our new building, and we've been here ever since.

Though the town has gone through hard days, we've stayed loyal to it all these years. I still dream about going back to Italy, but never to stay. I couldn't imagine calling anywhere else but Radiator Springs home. It's more than an Italian forklift could hope for.


End file.
